Second Best Destiny (Still Meant to Be)
by Rosslyn
Summary: He is nothing like his Jim, Spock thinks. Granted, they are both brash, confident, have a natural air of command, but the way they called his name — yes, in that single sound lies the difference of two universes. / After the events in STID, Jim is released into Spock's care. He insists on going to New Vulcan.


Warning for Age Difference, obvs.

* * *

**Second Best Destiny (Still Meant to Be)**

_Kirk/Spock Prime_

He is nothing like his Jim, Spock thinks. Granted, they are both brash, confident, have a natural air of command, but the way they called his name — yes, in that single sound lies the difference of two universes.

The way his Jim called him — Spock remembers it well. The way his eyes glinted, a brief look of wonder flitting over his face, the single exhale always carrying the faint note of surprise and disbelief. The assumption was that he could not believe Spock was with him, and he was humbled by it, still haunted by many incidents where Spock could have been easily lost, haunted by Spock's decision to go to Gol. The sound brought him regret and hope at the same time, a reminder of what was, and what would be.

There is nothing of the sort with this Jim. The Jim of this universe's eyes light up when he sees Spock, and he gives him a little wave, a huge grin stretching across his face. His eyes are blue. Cerulean, the shimmering ocean Spock once jumped in with his Jim. There is no history between them yet, a blank canvas, no haunted decisions, no personal fear. It is disconcerting and comforting at the same time.

It does not mean, however, that it is easy.

* * *

It is never easy.

They release him into Spock's care, after the young, still too young Enterprise crew meets Khan for their first time.

"Shit went down," McCoy grunts, and Spock is painfully reminded of the McCoy of his universe. "And more shit is gonna go down if I can't keep him with a responsible adult."

Spock is not sure whether the second term still applies — he is, after all, elderly by Earth standards — yet he packs and boards the first shuttle to Earth.

Jim grins and waves at him when he arrives. The blue of Jim's eyes strikes him hard, a sharp burst of colour against the pristine white of the medical bay. Spock is reminded of how his universe seemed mellower, hazier, less bright — then again, perhaps that could be attributed to his ageing mind.

His younger counterpart is standing by Jim's side. A chessboard stands near the foot of the bed, but it does not appear to be used. Upon his entrance, the younger Spock excuses himself quietly and walks towards the door.

Their shoulders brush, and Spock detects something foreign from himself. A swimming wisp of a connection with someone else, something he has never had before.

Their eyes meet briefly and the young one give him a curt nod, before disappearing down the corridor.

Spock retracts his gaze and focuses on Jim. Smiles. Steps closer, clasps his hand behind his back.

Jim stares at him, then grins wider.

"Well, that was weird," he says, in lieu of hello.

Spock notes how the cadence in his words is different. His Jim was always quietly mischievous, taking gentle delight in his amusement. Not open, inviting, with a sharp tang of danger lurking in the close vicinity. His mind meanders. Perhaps he is getting old.

"Okay," Jim is saying, furrowing his brows a little, "This is weirder. Is there something on my face?"

Spock lifts a brow and wills his facial muscles into an appropriation of calm and gentle warmth. "I apologise. It is remarkably pleasing to see you again, old friend."

Jim grins again. He pats the side of his bed, and swings his feet over. "Come on. You are my ticket out of here, old guy."

The eyebrow jumps higher almost of its own accord. "It is bad form to point out an elderly's age," Spock says, surprised at the ease of the banter they seem to slip into. The response is almost automatic, a lifetime's reflexes burned into his mind.

"Mmm," Jim makes a noncommittal noise and hoists himself up. His legs kick the air as he leans forward and closer, as if that would invade Spock's personal space.

Despite himself, Spock takes another step towards the bed.

Jim's grin turns lazy, and his eyes flutter once before he speaks again.

"I want to go to New Vulcan," he says.

Spock is somewhat surprised, though he immediately reminds himself that he should not be. This is, after all, a different Jim Kirk. "The higher gravity and thinner atmosphere on New Vulcan is not conducive to your recovery," he says.

Jim stares at him. There is something strangely hard in his eyes, something Spock cannot decipher. He does not remember the last time he was unable to decipher Jim Kirk, and there is an unpleasant contraction in his side.

"I have recovered," Jim starts to say. "But."

Spock waits, but no further information comes forth. Jim watches him wait, then lets out an exhale that sounds like a laugh, but he knows instinctively that it is not.

Jim's eyes dart towards the chessboard.

"Y'know, Uhura is his elective chess partner," Jim says.

The inconsequential comment falls like a crucial piece of the puzzle. Spock widens his eyes slightly. "You saw," he says.

Jim laughs humourlessly. "Yeah, I saw," he says. "Emotional transference and all."

Spock does not know how to reply to that.

"I tried to tell you, you know," Jim goes on. "Why I went back for you."

Spock deduces that the singular pronoun is not directed to him, but his younger counterpart.

"You said you understood," Jim continues. "That you were my friend." He stares at Spock, then squints. Tilts his head, a strange expression on his face. "Are you? Spock? Are you my friend?"

Spock's throat goes dry. He does not remember his Jim being this defiant, this confrontational; the simple challenge in his eyes —

Immersing himself in the familiar mind of James T. Kirk, Spock once thought, was a fleeting anathema to his pain. Instead, it seemed will result in the inevitable crumble of his mind.

"I am," Spock says quietly. "And I shall always be."

Jim regards him for a while, then flings the sheets aside and drops to the floor, barefoot. He straightens, and Spock realises how young this Jim really is. He does appear to be physically healed — the youth of his skin radiates a type of heat that his shields cannot hold against. There is turbulent emotion underneath, something that takes Spock three point six seconds to recognise —

Anger.

Distilled, burning in its intensity, something that he has never felt before, from his Jim Kirk.

From the way Jim narrows his eyes, he knows what Spock is thinking. Spock should stop making comparisons, but he is not able to.

It takes five more seconds before Spock realises the anger is directed at him. Misplaced, perhaps, but directed at him nonetheless. The way he looks at him speaks louder than any word that might be hurled across the room. There is wariness, regret, heartbreak and pain, and Spock is suddenly taken by the way those eyes still hold trust. There is struggle, as if Jim cannot decide whether the trust is granted, earned, but he chooses to give nonetheless.

Spock is at a loss. They remain at an impasse, Jim openly staring, and Spock trying to compose his words, until suddenly, Jim deflates.

"It's not your fault," he mumbles, rubbing at his face tiredly. "I'm sorry. I get like this these days. Bones is convinced that Khan's superblood fucked me up, but I think you just called it 'PTSD'."

Jim is, of course, referring to his younger self again, and Spock notes the dismissive way Jim used air quotes around the phrase 'PTSD'.

"It is not unusual to have emotional outbursts following traumatic experiences," Spock ventures quietly. Had it been his Jim, perhaps he would have cited statistics or cases precedent. But it has been too long, and he had not given advice as a First Officer in ninety-six years.

"I'm not –" Jim snaps irritably, but Spock can see that he is trying hard to temper down the flare. "It's just." He stops, licks his lips, and Spock's eyes dart involuntarily towards the flash of pink tongue. "That's why I thought New Vulcan, you know? Being around you lot. Calm. Controlled. Repressed. Ought to help. Bones will be pleased."

"Dr. McCoy is unaware of your request to take up temporary residence on Vulcan?" Spock asks, unable to help himself. He foresees great difficulty in this, with the doctor's temperament, mixed with Jim's own. Whereas the other Jim – his Jim – was always the mediator between the other Dr. McCoy and himself, Spock is ninety five point three percent certain he will have to take on the very same role.

"Like I said, Bones will be pleased," Jim says dismissively. His eyes, however, grow in intensity. "Now will you have me or not?"

Spock forces himself not to flinch at the challenging words. "Of course," he says. "I would be honoured, old friend."

Jim says, "good," but the light in his eyes fades by degrees. Spock wonders briefly if his Jim was full of idiosyncrasies such as this, but his mind fails him. In the ninety-six years of his lone existence, his memory of Jim had mellowed like wine, it no longer befits lines of scientific enquiry.

"At least play chess with me," Jim asks.

Spock sits down by the foot of the bed. He watches Jim arrange the pieces on the board, and takes note of the way the veins are clearly visible on the back of Jim's hand. Perhaps he should investigate into acquiring replicators capable of producing meat-like products; Jim certainly needs the extra protein intake.

"So I'm thinking we should steal a shuttle and run away," Jim opens nonchalantly, moving a piece randomly across the board.

Despite his best efforts, Spock stares. "That is – remarkably reckless," he says. _Even for you_. "Also quite unfeasible."

"Eh," Jim makes an unintelligible sound, but he does not appear particularly troubled. They play in silence for a few minutes, until Jim speaks again. "I'm not in the mood to wring a signed release paper from Bones," he says, "Especially not one that says I'm allowed to New Vulcan. So you'll have to do it."

Spock's brow jumps. "I see. So you are 'wringing' me instead?"

"Or we can run away and be space pirates," Jim says airily. He does not look up, but the lines around his eyes betray none of the pleasant tone of his voice. "After all, you owe me a happily ever after. Check."

Spock stares at the board – the style of play is overly aggressive, belying his opponent's volatile emotional state. This is the first chess game he has played with Jim Kirk in ninety-six years, and all his former knowledge are forfeit. There is a slow ache spreading from the side of his abdomen, morphing into a painful clench. Once, twice.

"I am truly sorry," Spock says. The words pound at the wall he has carefully erected in his mind.

He concedes defeat in two moves, and quietly excuses himself to initiate Jim's release process. Jim watches him leave with a tiny frown, and Spock thinks he can detect a hint of regret in the lines around Jim's lips. The last sentence of their exchange hangs heavily in the air behind him, and Spock forces himself to catalogue every happening around him to bring himself back in awareness. The colour of hospital walls, the stack of cards lying on the desk, the number of accented syllables in Dr. McCoy's outraged speech, bore out of concern for Jim.

"He owes me," McCoy concedes finally, grumbling as he signs the release papers with an unnecessary force.

Spock watches him end his signature with a swish. "He owes no one," Spock murmurs.

It is not until late at night, when Spock is lying in bed and running over an absent hand over the pendant around his neck, that he allows himself to be reminded that he had never been able to offer any happy afters to any Jim Kirk.

The thought haunts him.

* * *

On the shuttle to New Vulcan, Jim keeps staring out the window, eyes half-lidded, feigning sleep. But Spock is nothing if not intimately familiar with Jim Kirk's body language: arms crossed, shoulders tense. There is a pronounced protrusion of a tendon on the side of his neck, the result of his subconscious wanting to place as much space away from Spock as possible.

Spock's gaze falls down. Despite keeping his head pressed to the window, Jim is sprawled out in his seat, and their knees are touching. This he is unfamiliar with: the lazy arrogance, and the flirtatious nature of their tactile contact. Spock does not know what to make of the contradictory data input. He keeps still.

"Do you require a triox compound?" Spock asks once they have landed.

"Not unless you're planning to kill me again," Jim answers, and flings his backpack over his shoulder.

He does not glance at Spock, instead makes his way down the pavement in trotting steps.

Spock admits that he has never been good with this particular human emotion. Passive aggressiveness, he notes, is seventy point six percent more likely to elicit a painful physiological response than a direct confrontation, or even an insult, although Jim has yet to resort to the latter approach. (He doubts that Jim will.)

In front of him, Jim stops. "Wait," he says, then shakes his head slightly. "I forget. This isn't – I have no idea where I'm going."

Wordlessly, Spock extends a hand. Jim starts, darts his eyes from Spock's hand to Spock's face, bewildered.

"Your bag," Spock clarifies. "There is a fifty minute walk to my place of residence. I do not wish to overexert you."

"Oh," Jim says. There is a subtle blush starting from the base of his neck, and Spock convinces himself it is because of the midday heat. "Nah, I can manage."

"Jim," Spock says, exasperated. "I am required to update Dr. McCoy with your conditions every hour in the first three days of your arrival. I would prefer not to incur his wrath by informing him at the second check in that you had fainted due to heat stroke."

Jim laughs, and Spock suddenly realises how much he had missed it. The sound and sight of Jim being happy.

"I bet you had lots of practise saying these kinda things," Jim says, beaming. For once, he does not seem to be saying it pointedly, and Spock is inordinately glad.

"More so in the past several days," Spock replies. He picks up Jim's backpack and guides them towards what little shade there is on the side of the streets. "I have taken the liberty of installing a water shower and a bath in preparation of your arrival. There is also a passable recipe programmed into the replicator for hamburgers, as fresh ingredients are difficult to procure on this planet."

"Wow," Jim says, surprised. "And you're sure that's okay? Won't get you into trouble with water being scarce and meat being, y'know, meat?"

This is in stark contrast with Jim's earlier brash request, but Spock is no longer surprised. "Given my role in the Colony, I have access to a few… extravagances," he says.

"Perks of being a time-travelling ambassador?" Jim says, laughing softly again.

Logically, Spock knows he should not reopen the topic, perhaps not even as a simple acknowledgement. But the Jim Kirk he knew was not one to back down from awkward conversations, not one to shy away where acknowledgement is due.

"New Vulcan owes its survival to you," Spock says quietly.

"No, to you," Jim replies quickly. Spock turns his head slightly, and finds Jim staring at him. There is no pointedness in his look, no hidden meanings and pained aggression, only earnesty. "If you hadn't found me – " he begins, then suddenly frowns. "Wait, you don't think it was your fault? What happened to Vulcan?"

Spock says nothing.

A second, then two, and Jim lets out a breath. His demeanour suddenly changes; it is as if a fight that Spock had not been aware of suddenly left him. Jim looks – tired, but strangely also more at peace.

"Well, it's not," Jim says firmly. "Come on."

They do not elaborate on the topic on their way to Spock's residence, and Spock is not typically one to mull over possibilities that have not occurred. Yet he cannot help but feel certain that he could not have bore the hurt if Jim had shared the blame he placed on himself for the destruction of Vulcan. Nor could he have stood the sympathy; in this, at least, the Jims are remarkably consistent.

* * *

After he finishes assuring Dr. McCoy of Jim's physical and psychological well being (the doctor believed the latter should be evaluated in relative rather than absolute terms), he finds Jim on the balcony. Jim is tapping his fingers against the railing, a sign of agitation that Spock has come to recognise.

"It's not the same, is it," Jim says without turning. "The wind smells different."

Logically, Spock knows that smell is the strongest trigger for memory, but he is still taken aback by the matter-of-fact cadence in Jim's voice. He had not realised that the unintended emotional transference had such explicit and inconsequential detail.

Jim glances at him, then his expression shifted to something akin to amusement. "You do know I jumped onto the planet surface moments before?" he says, with quiet laughter in his voice. "It's kinda the only thing I remember about Vulcan. The wind choking me as I fell."

"I see," Spock murmurs. He should have realised his mistake, should not have jumped to conclusions. This will not do. He foresees the need for a deep meditation session tonight, and perhaps in the coming weeks.

"At least back then there was air," Jim says, and takes a long gulpful. Spock can pick out a slight wheezing via his Vulcan hearing, but Jim seems undisturbed by it. "Puuuh. How do you guys handle the heat?"

Spock refrains from pointing out that taking up temporary residence on New Vulcan was Jim's idea. "Would you like to come inside?"

To his surprise, Jim shakes his head. "Nah. I prefer it here."

"Are the lodgings not prepared to your liking?" Spock asks, despite himself.

"Hmm?" Jim says absently, gazing over the railing. "Oh. I haven't checked it out yet."

Spock raises a brow.

"I'm sure it's fine," Jim continues. Then, almost as an embarrassed afterthought, "Thanks. I uh, I appreciate it," he says, rubbing his neck.

"I do not recall I had a choice," Spock replies drily.

Jim laughs again. This time, it ends on a contemplative note. "No you didn't," he says, turning to the streets below. "But who does."

Spock is still thinking about Jim's words when they sit down to a simple lunch. He has made soup, spiced it up for Jim's palette. From the look of vague surprise on Jim's face, it is successful.

"I didn't know you could cook," Jim says.

"Many of my skills are acquired later in life," Spock explains.

"Sure." Jim shrugs, and peers at him sideways. "Like smiling?"

Spock demonstrates, even if just by the fractional curve of his lips. "A gesture that belies emotion," he says. "It took me many years to come to terms with it. I am after all, only – or perhaps exactly – half human."

Jim hums. "So how much of that growing came in the last ninety years?"

Spock's brow jumps. Jim is watching him over the rim of the bowl, but his gaze is more curious than sharp. Jim blinks. Spock's side clenches painfully, almost in tandem.

"More than I would like to admit," he says.

"Oh." Jim seems unsurprised by the answer. He picks at a piece of bread, tearing it to pieces before dumping him in the soup. "Yeah, I thought so."

Spock contemplates the best way to approach this – but realises there might not be one. It is not logical to draw out the unspoken tension, which is clearly affecting Jim's psyche. He links his hands and places them on the table.

"You blame me for my counterpart not returning your feelings," Spock says.

Jim's hand stills. His shoulders tense, then relaxes forcibly by increments. He resumes the motion of sending a spoonful to his mouth, swallows, then returns his spoon to stir in the bowl.

"That's not very logical," Jim says, with half a shrug of his shoulder.

"Perhaps," Spock says. "Emotions rarely are."

Jim gives him an odd look. "Yeah, that? That still creeps me out. You talking about emotions. You have 'em, sure, but try to bring it up in a conversation — Ho." He shakes his head and does a lively sort of dance with his eyebrows, something foreign and endearing at the same time. "Did you know that outside of life and death situations, you categorically deny that they exist?"

Spock hands him a plate of fruit, filled with the ones that his Jim once liked. He watches Jim pick one and hopes that he likes it too. "As I said, many of my skills are developed later in life," he says calmly. "Some of them I could not have developed at all, without your assistance. Give him time."

Jim blinks, then sits back in the chair. He appears to enjoy the fruit, and licks his fingers, before pointing them at Spock's direction. "Yeah, see, that? That's what I have a problem with."

"Please clarify," Spock says, befuddled.

Jim lets out a long breath, and drops his gaze to his knee. When he looks up again, the blazing intensity has returned to his eyes.

"Why did you let me think it was a possibility? Hmm?" Jim says, quiet. "_Define us both in ways we cannot yet realise?_"

Spock blinks, taken aback. "My counterpart told you this," he says.

"Yep," Jim says, making an elaborate sound on the plosive. "We are friends, y'know. Just. Not quite the kind you had in mind." He twists his finger around his temple in a human gesture to indicate madness, but his gaze remains fixed upon Spock's face.

"I — " Spock begins, and frowns. "I never intended to betray the nature of our relationship where I came from," he says. He considers telling him that he is not entirely certain how the transference took place without his knowledge, but it would be a partial lie. The T'hy'la bond is rare; it is not improbable that it recognised the katra of his long lost bondmate. "I had merely hoped that you both would gain from serving on the same starship," Spock says in the end.

"Sure," Jim shrugs. "We did. We do. You're a good friend." He sighs on the last word, and rubs his face tiredly. "I'm sorry. It isn't fair. I just... I thought..." he sprays his hands on the table, into an approximation of a Ta'al, and stares at it. His gaze is far and distant, his face pensive.

"Never mind," Jim says in the end. "Forget it. Soup is real nice, thanks."

Spock watches him, and waits until he finishes eating. "I am truly sorry," he repeats, quiet.

"For what?" Jim says, twisting his brow in defeated confusion.

Spock looks at him sadly. "I, too, have experienced what it is like to know what could have been," he says. "I did not intend for you to experience that also. I am sorry."

Jim stares at him. Suddenly, he laughs, but it is an introspective, humourless sound. "What a fucking sad fest," he says. "God, I was feeling so sorry about myself. What am I doing?" he says, shaking his head and gathering his dishes. "Don't apologise, Spock. 's not your fault. I'm just being an asshole."

Spock is beginning to reconsider the wisdom in delaying Jim's psych eval until before he is ready to reenlist. "Jim," he says, standing up. "There is a distinct possibility that given time..."

"No, no," Jim says, waving a dismissive hand and starting the sonic cleaning cycle in the dishwasher. "I think it ended in that chamber, y'know? Coming back to life gives you new perspective on things. If he didn't realise that I was trying to Vulcan kiss him through the glass when I was kicking it, I think there's really no point in persisting." He stands up, and wipes his hand on the tea towel. Shrugs. "It's okay. Most of the time, really. I'm not upset about it. Just... like you said, what could've been, y'know? I think I let it get to me for too long. I need to let it go."

Spock is quiet for some time after Jim finishes. He decides that further advice on his part is most likely unwelcome at this point, and simply nods. "That sounds wise," he says. "Given the circumstances."

"Oh, I am anything but," Jim says airily, but he smiles at Spock in any case.

* * *

Dr. McCoy seems pleased with Jim's physical progress. Spock sends him daily updates after the first week, and subjects himself to a twenty minute interrogation on Jim's wellbeing every two days. Jim only makes sporadic appearances in the video, much to the chagrin of the doctor ("I need to see your face to know how you're doing, dammit"), but he seems unconcerned that Spock is convening with his best friend behind his back. In fact, Jim has largely ceased his passive aggressiveness during his time here, and Spock has known him for too long to enquire to which part of the conversation prompted the change in attitude. Spock believes the human term would be 'to take what he can get'.

"The perks of having a BFF in another lifetime," McCoy grunts, when he is at last satisfied with Jim's weight gain. "I couldn't put him on any greens for the sake of my life. How did you do it?"

"With experience," Spock replies majestically. "Jim has expressed wish to help with the reconstruction on the Colony. I take that he has recovered enough to be cleared for light work?"

"Get him in here," McCoy says, looking vaguely annoyed.

Spock finds Jim in his study, standing on a stepladder and rearranging his books on the shelf in a seemingly random order "Dr. McCoy wishes to speak to you," he says. "It pertains to your medical clearance to work on the Colony."

"Ergh," Jim says, slotting the last few books in his hand back onto the shelf. "Bones never lets me go anywhere without an earful. I swear my grandmother is less coddling than he is." He jumps off the ladder and lands lopsidedly on his feet.

"Please be careful," Spock says, exasperated.

Jim winks at him and turns to the PADD in Spock's hand. "Yeah, Bones?"

"First," the doctor's voice came from the screen, pained, "Do not jump from heights above your own height, unless absolutely necessary."

Jim rolls his eyes. "No jumping unless saving planets, got it. Anything else?"

"You are cleared for light duty only," McCoy continues, forgoing the previous comment. "That means no strenuous exercise," he adds, in a tone that suggests the message belies significant meaning underneath.

Jim barks a laugh. "What, worried that I'll pick up random Vulcan girls on the street?" he casts a lewd glance at Spock, and laughs some more at the scandalised expression on the doctor's face. "Don't worry, I'll behave. I was thinking of overlooking the engine plans for Vulcan's exploration vessels," he adds, more serious. "Since I've used up so much of their resources already. See if I can't streamline it."

"Good," McCoy replies. "Tell the hobgoblin that he has permission to nerve pinch you the moment you step out of line. Doctor's orders."

"No he won't," Jim says, confident and unapologetic.

"Indeed I will not," Spock replies, and feels an uncharacteristic exhilaration at watching Jim's face breaking into grin. "However, rest assured that there are far more effective measures to be taken instead."

Jim's face falls. "You both are no fun," he whines.

"He's a Vulcan, what did you expect?" McCoy gripes. "I shudder to think the kind of fun you like to have. I swear to god, Jim, if you manage to get anything — _anything_ — on the Vulcan Colony, of all places — "

Jim promptly leans over and ends the call, laughing to himself. Spock watches him, amused.

"Seriously though," Jim asks a few seconds later. "STDs aren't big on Vulcan, are they?"

Spock lifts a brow in light amusement, but has to force down the unpleasant heaviness by his side. "I would prefer if the need to discuss such matters never arose," he says.

"Sure, Spock," Jim replies, oblivious to Spock's discomfort, with laughter evident in his voice.

* * *

Jim has taken over his study. He is either pouring over the engine room plans on Spock's desk, or rearranging the books on Spock's shelf. Spock believed that the latter was a random act of impulsiveness, until one day he realises that all his books have been rearranged according to an outdated method categorisation used by Earth's old public libraries. He stares at the introductory article to the Dewy Decimal System on his screen, and tries to remember the last time someone did something so illogical and purposeless in his home. He cannot.

Spock's own work necessitates him to occupy a less than strict schedule, as he is sometimes required onsite, and sometimes not. He comes and goes; keeping a close eye on Jim the first few weeks as he did so. But Jim seems content where he is, and has not tried to leave the house in search of more 'exciting' things. He offered to accompany Spock to the market several times, but did not attempt to engage in frivolous conversation with the people there, Vulcan or otherwise.

This is where Spock feels a distinct need to employ another human phrase. To be precise, he is 'waiting for the other shoe to drop'.

Jim merely laughs, when Spock carefully enquires into his need to engage in leisure activities. "I have fun," he says. "I get to tinker one of the Federation's most advanced ships. Better still, I _think_ of ways to tinker the ship, and get a bunch of Vulcan lackeys to do it."

"Perhaps Mr. Scott has over exerted his influence," Spock comments.

"What can I say," Jim replies, shrugging. "At least there're no warheads in your science vessels. I'm thinking of upgrading the replicator there, too. D'you mind sharing your secret recipe for that awesome soup?"

Spock watches him tapping around on the PADD, playing a game of battle simulations. A Starship Captain through and through. "The soup is much too spicy for Vulcan palettes."

"Yeah well, who knows when you might get alien guests with a normal taste range," Jim says, pressing hard as the simulated ship's power is rerouted to forward shields. "You'll share though?"

"I have no objections to sharing," Spock replies, then notices something. "Is this the Kobayashi Maru test?"

"Just a simplified version," Jim says. "All of the bridge positions are AI controlled, except the Captain's. I haven't beaten it yet." He looks up, then grins self-deprecatingly. "Without cheating, I mean."

"You _have_ beaten it," Spock points out.

Jim huffs a laugh. "Sure. I like to keep playing, y'know. _For fun_."

Spock rather doubts that no-win scenarios can be described as fun, but he knows Jim far better than to voice these doubts. "May I have a copy of the programme?" he asks.

Jim eyes him oddly, then shrugs again. "Sure. Why not."

* * *

The reconstruction of New Shi'khar is concluding. The designs have been finalised, and all that remains is the physical labour and minor adjustments during the phase of construction. Spock had originally intended to take on the role of supervision as well as continuing his contributions at the Vulcan Science Academy, but final simulations had shown that the Colony do not have sufficient resources to complete the development plan within Five Standard Years, as they had initially hoped. As a managing strategy, the Vulcan High Council decides to send out exploratory vessels to nearby star systems in order to cultivate more resource bases. A list of volunteers have been called up to fill these positions, two per ship, as the newest model had been adapted from Starfleet's one-man warship, to maximise use of human resources.

Jim's name is on the list.

Spock's heart nearly stops when he sees the spiky signature on his PADD. In that moment, the proverbial shoe hits him in the face: Jim had estimated that New Vulcan would run out of resources, and he —

"I cannot allow you to do this," Spock says, feeling more frayed than he had been in the last ninety-six years.

"Cleared for duty, remember?" Jim jabs a lazy thumb at himself. "The Enterprise isn't going to be repaired till next summer. I handled these ships, I know how they run. It's a logical choice that the High Council picked me."

Spock stares, and wishes that there is not a deep part of his mind that knows this is what Jim Kirk wants. Nothing can keep him from the stars. "I am charged with your safety until you return to Starfleet," he manages. "Even exploratory missions can be dangerous."

Jim makes a face of consent, and drums his fingers on the table. "Which is why I need a First Officer," he says, looking straight at Spock.

Spock's thoughts briefly flit to his younger counterpart. The last he heard, Spock was on Earth, assisting reconstruction of Starfleet Headquarters. His younger self would most likely agree, if Jim had asked, but he does not believe that Jim and his counterpart have spoken since Jim arrived on New Vulcan.

"Think about it," Jim says. "The last I heard, only, what, thirty percent of the star systems around New Vulcan are explored? That's negligent. Criminal, even. Tell me you don't want it."

There is a sweet, sharp pain at Spock's side, and his vision clouds. The sight of two Jims blurs into one, as the words ring true and clear in his mind:

_To command a starship is your first and best destiny..._

"Yeah?" Jim says, smiling softly, "Then yours is by my side. Tell me you don't want to be on that bridge again, Spock."

Spock realises he spoke the words out loud. "I am — " his voice breaks on the last syllable. "I am not certain this is wise, Jim," he whispers.

"Never said I was wise, did I?" Jim replies, flicking a brow. "Say yes, Spock."

Spock's hands are shaking as he holds them tightly under his robes. "Yes," he answers, helpless in the onslaught of emotion.

* * *

They take off after two weeks. Dr. McCoy is predictably enraged: Spock assured him that yes, he will be monitoring Jim's health closely the entire trip and no, making threats to the Vulcan High Council about their illogic is not a wise course of action. Finally the doctor caves when he sees the light in Jim's eyes, talking about unsurveyed M Class planets and dilithium deposits.

"No natives," McCoy barks by way of final appeal. "No impulsive agreements, negotiations, ingesting 'local medicine to help you relax', trying out new stuff just cos it looks interesting, and no. Space. Diseases. Get it?"

"Yes, mother," Jim answers, holding his nail to the light. Spock suspects this routine of being deliberately annoying is the foundation of their friendship, but he cannot help but be concerned about its effect on the doctor's blood pressure.

"And if you even so much as catch a whiff of Klingons, Romulans or any hostile species known to men, you get the hell outta there, _get it_?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry Bones, I'll send you a postcard, kay?"

Spock decides he should take the moment to intervene, before McCoy ostensibly hyperventilates. "Have you truly never considered the command track in the Academy, doctor?"

McCoy gives him the evil eye. "Now whose brilliant idea was it that an exploratory vessel could be commissioned without a _medical doctor_?" he grumbles, shaking his head. "Crazy Vulcans. I swear, if anything happens to Jim — "

"I will not allow harm to come to him," Spock assures McCoy. "I would place his wellbeing above my own."

McCoy looks taken aback by his comment, but Spock does not consider his declaration to be overly extreme. After all, it is the duty of the First Officer to place the Captain's wellbeing above his own.

Jim pokes his head over in order to squeeze into the view of the camera. "See, Bones? Nothing to worry about." Their cheeks are almost touching, and Spock can feel the heat radiating off Jim's face. He looks otherwise unperturbed, however. "Honestly, it's not like we are groping in the dark. We've already got a few planets for selection, and just needs to check it out in person. I'll call you when I get back."

Jim ends the call with an accompanying noise of "boop!", and turns his cheek by a fraction. He is close, too close: Spock can see the pattern in Jim's iris, feels like he might drown.

"Thank you," Jim whispers with a smile. His cheeks are warm. "_Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, isha._"

Spock does not trust himself to move until Jim has left the room.

* * *

It is a gross oversight on Spock's part, he decides, to never enquire to the level of competency in Jim's Vulcan language skills. The other Jim always found amusement in the way he butchered the language, laughing at the look on Spock's face, calling Spock's Vulcan poetry books 'the product of someone rolling over the keyboard'. But he knew Jim liked the whispered sound of the Vulcan language, liked floating in Spock's murmurings when they melded. The need for Jim to utilise his Vulcan skills never arose in his universe, and he cannot say for certain whether Jim has the innate capability to master it.

Watching Jim humming about on the bridge, double-checking AI controls before they take off, it appears that Jim's comprehension of technical Vulcan is adept. That is not what troubles him, of course; every time Jim turns away from him, Spock's thoughts fork in a thousand directions. He has meditated on it for the past three days, but it has proven futile. He does not know if Jim has learned the phrase on his own accord, heard the phrase in Spock's memory, or even knows what it signifies. He does not think he can bear the answer.

"Are you ready, Mr. Spock?" Jim's voice pulls at his awareness. Spock blinks; the final checks have been completed, and all the non-relevant personnel have left the ship. "Just you and me now."

Spock nods. "Indeed, Captain." The old title brings another surge of emotion, a dull ache by his side.

Jim chuckles. "It all starts backwards for us, doesn't it," he says, shaking his head. "Second star to the right and straight on till morning, Mr. Spock."

As Spock enters the coordinates onto the screen and feels the familiar lurch of warp, a blanket of calm settles over him. On the screen, stars are stretched to thin lines, and Jim is humming an off-key tune while scanning star charts nearby. He can feel the thrum of the engine beneath his feet, the gentle rumble of the warp drive.

He is at home.

* * *

The new exploration vessels come equipped with advanced AI and autopilot function, which allows both of them to take breaks at the same time. Spock had thought it to be an advantage, until Jim showed up at his door, late the first night.

"So," Jim says, spreading his palm. "How long are we gonna play this game?"

Spock pauses in his preparation for daily meditation. "Which game?" he asks, befuddled.

"The one where I pretend I can't see that you want me, and you pretend you don't want me at all," Jim drawls, leaning against the door and crossing his arms.

Surprisingly, instead of tensing up, something settles in Spock's stomach. Ah, he thinks. _This_ is the shoe I was waiting for.

Jim is eyeing him curiously, as if impressed by his lack of reaction. "Seriously. Nothing?"

"As I said, Captain," Spock murmurs, and lights a candle. He is gratified to see that his hands remain steady. "This is unwise."

"Puh. Since when do I ever go for the wise choice?" Jim shrugs, and moves inside the small cabin. Their sleeping quarters are connected to each other through a joint bathroom, remarkably similar to the one they had on the Enterprise. Spock had thought this would elicit memories, but he appears to be wrong. This is entirely different.

In a matter of two paces, Jim presses up to him. His eyes are the deeper shade of the sea in the dim light; his body heat, his touch, his smell, all too overwhelming. Spock can feel his control crumbling thread by thread, shaken apart, an old relic unable to withstand the force of nature.

"You've waited ninety-six years," Jim whispers, licking his lips. "I'm here. This is your second chance. Tell me you don't want it."

Spock's side clenches again, more painful than the last. "I do," he says, truthful, and relishes the look of happy surprise in Jim's face. "Yet you are mistaken. You are not him, Jim. And I am not my younger self."

Jim frowns, his mouth formed into a defiant, unhappy line. "Well, I'm the best you can get," he says, harsh. "I'm sorry if that's not what you want."

"That is not what I mean, as you are aware," Spock replies, tired.

Jim's hold on his arm lessens by degrees. "How would you know?"

Spock feels the last of his Vulcan control slip out of him in a breath akin to a sigh. "I would know you anywhere," he says.

Jim huffs a quiet laugh, and rests their foreheads against each other. "Tell me you don't want it," he repeats.

Spock considers his arguments in his head. He is one hundred and thirty two years Jim's senior. He was bonded to Jim's counterpart in his universe, and the accidental knowledge transfer had invariably influenced the life of the Jim of this universe. This Jim acted upon his memories and is in turn rejected by his younger counterpart. This Jim was angry with him for showing him the possibilities that are not meant to be in this universe. He is not certain whether this Jim is completely without resentment. He doubts it. _This is not his Jim._

Jim has his eyes closed, and he is breathing slow and deeply, as if inhaling Spock's scent. His lashes are long, casting a pale shadow under his eyes. He is so young. Reckless, unafraid, with abandon. He is every cell of his being James T Kirk, and Spock would know him anywhere.

"Forgive the dreams of an old man," Spock whispers, and Jim kisses him, glad and desperate and painful and blissfully alive. The bond centre of his brain flares up with the familiar golden light, and Spock feels the rise of a primal heat from the core of his katra.

He is whole again.

* * *

The planetary survey proves to be uneventful; the planet has too thin an atmosphere to sustain complex organic growth but it has aided the formation of rare minerals. A sandstorm gathers by the time they finishes collecting the minerals, and Jim looks up to the horizon.

"Apocalyptic," he comments, as the whirling sand pushes towards them. "To think, there are only two of us on this entire planet. Weird, huh?"

"Given your track record, I believe the human term would be 'do not push your luck', Captain," Spock replies, keying in beaming coordinates. "The sandstorm will likely affect the equipment if it comes to our vicinity. We should make haste."

When they have landed on the transporter pad, Jim elects to pick up the conversation again. "Feels like that, sometimes, doesn't it? Just the two of us."

Spock gets the feeling that Jim is not talking in absolute terms. "Please clarify."

"Well, you know," Jim says, shrugging as he helps Spock unload the mineral samples into the Mass-Spec. "There's plenty of evidence that another universe exists, sure. But we are the only two people who knows what it's like. Things that happened. People that lived. How everything could have — or did — pan out in another time."

Spock lifts a brow. "Indeed." He is a little wary of where this is going, and he waits until Jim speaks again.

"Imagine what it'd be like to be the only one who knows these things, hmm?" Jim says, with a small contemplative smile. "I'm glad you are with me."

Spock feels a familiar kind of visceral discomfort again. "You should not have had to share the burden, Jim," he says, disquieted.

Jim shrugs. "I think we are beyond apologies, aren't we?" he says. "I'm glad I'm not alone." He pauses, then glances at Spock again. "I'm glad _you_ are not alone," he adds.

Spock allows the swelling that rises from his side to his chest. "As am I," he murmurs, brushing Jim's hand.

Jim's gaze drops to his extended two fingers, and laughs. "You know, I once thought it was just the hands," he says, curling his fingers in response. "Like, handholding would be the equivalent of making out. But I guess you can call this an art."

Spock lifts a brow. Jim smiles at him, and the smile grows into a smirk, one that he has come to familiarise himself with. "Wash your hands," Jim says. "I want to see if I can make you come just by sucking on your fingers."

Spock can feel the rise of blood in his cheeks, the sensation also becoming intimately familiar since the last few weeks. "You are insatiable," he murmurs, and begins the cleaning cycle at the basin.

"What can I say, the golden age of the human male," Jim says, eyeing Spock like a hawk. Spock finds that he does not mind the attention — revels in it, in fact, in the privacy of the vast, empty space around them.

"I should warn you," Spock says, before trailing his hand down Jim's cheek. Jim leans into his palm and nudges it; an affectionate gesture that brings a sweet ache to Spock's abdomen.

"Warn me about what?" Jim asks, eyes half-lidded, as he kisses Spock's knuckles one by one. Worships, reveres. Spock inhales deeply, and lets his shield down.

Jim staggers, and Spock steadies him with his free arm. "Whoa," Jim breathes, pupils blown impossibly wide. "That's — You can do that?"

"My telepathy can be quite powerful," Spock comments, unable to keep the wry note out of his voice. "It is, after all, only logical that both parties attain enjoyment in this activity."

"I think you can make me come in my pants with that," Jim says breathlessly, awed. Spock pushes in a little, and Jim's eyes widen. "Fuck, no, I don't mean — oh my guuuh — "

Spock leans down and bites at Jim's ear, feeling Jim tense and relax as he achieves climax. "_Taluhk nash-veh k'dular,_" he murmurs, as Jim breathes his name.

* * *

They have never melded. Neither of them ask. Spock is not bothered by this, he tells himself — only vaguely regretful, as he is certain the experience on Delta Vega had scarred young Jim for life. His telepathy is strong enough that they enjoy its element in lovemaking, but Spock has never encroached upon Jim's private thoughts without permission. He immerses himself in emotion bleeding through the surface contact: Jim's arousal, lust, elation, trust, mischief, completion. In the time he spends meditating, these knowledge gives him solace.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Jim says, panting, after he had come down from a particularly noticeable high. "But for a Vulcan elder, you are really, _really_ good at this."

"Which insult did you wish me to ignore, the Vulcan, or the elder?" Spock asks, smiling.

"Very funny," Jim says, rolling his eyes. "What time is it?" he asks, squinting at the chronometer. "Good, still early."

Spock watches him get up and fumble in the clothes strewn across the floor. "Is there somewhere else you need to be?"

"No," Jim replies absently, and resurfaces with his PADD. "I've got a new idea about the Kobayashi Maru, that's all."

"If you are thinking about a no-win scenario while we were engaged in coitus, I _will_ think of it as an insult," Spock says, amused.

Jim smacks a loud kiss on his cheek by way of reply, and powers up the PADD. A picture of the Vulcan Science Academy shows up in the background. "Oh, it's yours. Sorry. Do you mind?"

Spock shakes his head.

"Okay then. Let's see..." Jim taps at the screen a few times, then lifts both of his brows in surprise. "You reprogrammed it?"

"Ah," Spock remembers, "I merely made the modification to allow the First Officer and Science Officer position to be playable. You can still elect for the AI option, if you wish."

Jim regards him for a long moment. "Let's do this together, then," he says, handing Spock his PADD and scrambling off the bed. "I have, coincidentally, programmed the simulation to allow collaborative players — there."

Spock is momentarily distracted by the flash of Jim's thighs, before settling his gaze back onto the screen. "You wish for us to beat my test together?"

"Why, your Vulcan pride can't stand it?" Jim asks, winking.

Spock has never participated in the Kobayashi Maru, but he feels he has given his answer in his own way. He is certain that Jim knows this — but the temptation to play against a no-win scenario with Jim is too great.

"Please do not make any rash decision without informing me first," Spock says as the simulation starts up.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Spock," Jim says, curling his finger against Spock's palm. "Wouldn't dream of it."

They play in well-practiced tandem, Jim making loud noises and shouting commands as he pokes furiously at the screen. This is a completely different command style to the one Spock sees on the Vulcan bridge: exploratory vessels do not come with advanced battle equipment, nor is there need to shout at the weapons control even though it is presently occupied by AI.

"Sulu! Sulu! Evasive manoeuvres, dammit!" Jim yells, bouncing on the bed. "Just a little to the — that's it! Give me maximum thrusters, Scotty!"

"You are aware that the AI of this programme is not voice controlled?" Spock asks.

"Spock, ready the tractor beams," Jim orders, completely oblivious to Spock's comment.

"Yes, Captain," Spock replies, bemused. Then, "It is impossible to tow the freighter without attracting the mines also, Captain."

"Which is why we are going to play a game called who's got the strongest shields," Jim says. "Full thrusters into the minefield."

The PADD vibrates as the simulated gravitic mines explode one by one, some directly against Enterprise's hull, others closely behind.

"Brace for proximity impact," Spock says weakly. "This is madness, Captain."

"Eighty degrees starboard!" Jim orders, a mad glint in his eyes. "Get those tractor beams onto the Klingons!"

Spock runs through the numbers in his head, and feels his pulse quicken. "Captain, if your intent is to speed through the minefield and hope that the Klingon vessels catch most of the damage in the delayed offset, the chance of success is less than three point six percent," he says, fingers flying over the PADD nonetheless.

Jim laughs, a clear, exhilarated sound. "We've beaten worse odds, Spock!"

Spock watches, breath abated, as the Enterprise propels itself through the minefield and takes extensive damage to its hull. Hull breaches on deck three, five, six; life-support systems are failing. But the vast empty edge of space is visible now, the minefield is at an end. There are two particularly large mines hovering by the edge, and its proximity sensors have already lighted up —

"We will not fit," Spock says.

To his surprise, Jim laughs hysterically. "Will fit!" he shouts in a long, single breath. "Will fit will fit will fit!"

The PADD vibrates so hard that it nearly falls out of Spock's hands. The darkness clears on his screen, and Spock is surprised to see that they had indeed emerged from the minefield, while the Klingon cruisers have been trapped behind.

"Told you we'd fit!" Jim announced triumphantly.

Spock opens his mouth to speak, but is distracted by the alert sound coming from the PADD. "We have two minutes of oxygen left, Captain," he says instead.

"Arrrgh," Jim growls, tapping at the screen vehemently. "I swear, if you only let Scotty near the systems, it wouldn't be this fragile — to the evacuation bay, Mr. Spock!"

"There is only one evacuation pod left," Spock tells him patiently. This was a part of the original programme, one that had brought many cadets to tears in the simulation room. "Please hurry. We have less than a minute of oxygen left."

"Like hell," Jim says, staring at the PADD intently. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

"Captain — " Spock begins, but Jim shushes him with a knock of his shoulder.

"I'll get us a happy ending, Spock," Jim says.

Spock looks up, surprised; but Jim is only working intently on the PADD. He is smiling softly, humming a tune only known to himself.

"Captain," Spock tries again, as the countdown to oxygen supply reaches zero. "If you do not utilise the escape pod — "

His sentence is cut short by a pop up on his screen. _The Captain invites you to escape this catastrophe and roam the sky as as space pirates._ _Accept?_

Spock feels his mouth falling slightly open. "I do not understand."

Jim closes his eyes and smiles, shrugging in a remarkably casual, care-free way. "Do you accept?" he asks.

Against his better judgement, Spock presses 'YES', before the screen goes dark. Both PADD vibrate, and fall silent.

Spock drops his gaze to the screen and reads the finally conclusion of the scenario. "You have modified the escape pod to contain two people by sacrificing its thrusters," Spock says, exasperated. "This means we will have no option but to float in space, until someone discovers us."

"A civilian freighter caught by a minefield, the Enterprise and three Klingon cruisers destroyed, and no one comes looking for us? Don't be ridiculous," Jim says, crossing his arms behind his back and lying back onto the pillows, sighing in content. "Besides, even if no one does, at least I've got you."

Spock is not sure how to reply to that.

"See?" Jim says, opening an eye and squinting at him. He is smiling, a soft, secretive sort of smile, rounded at the edges. "Told you I'd give you a happy ending."

"I'm not sure that qualifies," Spock manages. He is no less pleased, however, even when Jim will not stop laughing.

* * *

This time when Jim steps onto the pavement outside New Shi'khar, he looks healthier. Happier. And Spock marvels at the time that has passed between them in the last few months, seemingly separate from the rest of the universe. The bustling sound of a well-populated city almost comes as a shock: the realisation that they are finally back to civilisation, with people of their kind.

They are almost immediately escorted to their separate destinations; Spock to the Vulcan High Council, Jim to the hanger bay. Spock is already a few hundred paces away when Jim's voice trailed over his shoulder:

"I want real soup tonight!" Jim yells. "See you at home!"

Despite himself and heedless of surprised onlookers, Spock smiles, and raises his hand in the ta'al.

The meeting is a long and winding one, but Spock manages to give all information that the Council wished in one afternoon. By the time he is walking towards his residence, he is feeling slightly breathless, overtaxed. He contemplates the merits of a bath, perhaps not alone; his Jim had always enjoyed time shared in the bath.

The thought of his Jim sends a stabbing pain through his side. Spock pauses and berates himself; he had not compared Jim to the memory of a shadow in a long time. Indeed, he does not wish to, yet the pain seems to be visceral, every time he allows himself to dwell on the subject.

Spock can see his house now, the red roof with the balcony on the small hill. He thinks he can hear Jim humming, but the sound is faint. His vision clouds, then clears again. Spock frowns.

The pain is getting worse. Spock looks at his hand and notices that his nails are discoloured — not the result of exposure to minerals, but a pale, unhealthy shade. His mind flashes back to the journey to Babel, and suddenly, his heart lurches.

"Jim," he murmurs, and collapses on the side of the road.

* * *

Spock comes to the sight of Jim hovering over his head.

"Spock!" Jim's voice is wavy, muffled, as if he is calling from beneath a large body of water. "Spock, hold on. Don't do this to me."

Spock shifts his gaze around — there is an anxious Betazoid standing around, speaking to his communicator, ordering an ambulance.

"Jim," he croaks, and finds his throat tight with pain.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," Jim says, clutching Spock's hand to his face. Jim's cheek is warm, and his anxiety is palpable through the skin.

"I believe you are affecting the Betazoid with your worry," Spock whispers.

Jim chokes out a laugh, and Spock touches something wet at the end of his fingertips. "Do not cry, _ashaya_," Spock murmurs.

"No," Jim says. "You'll be okay. I'll have Bones fly over as soon as he can, M'Benga too, he can take care of your recovery, — "

"Jim," Spock says gently. "It is all right." His vision is fading in and out, and the only light he sees is the sun glinting over Jim's hair. "This is a family condition, I am at the age — "

"No," Jim's voice cuts in, defiant and forceful and full of life. Spock feels his hand being pressed into Jim's face, feverish and hot, wet with tear tracks. Jim is fumbling with his fingers, their hands intertwined, and Jim's is shaking. He wants to respond to the kiss, but already finds it difficult to control his fine motor function.

"...to me," Jim is saying, and the voice washes over him like waves. "Spock!" Jim is shaking him, and Spock fights to grasp onto the sensory input. "Your katra, give to me, I will store it, I will bring you back again, I swear — "

Spock blinks, the simple act heavier than he had remembered. "Jim," he murmurs, realising belatedly that Jim is trying to form his fingers into a meld pattern. "I cannot — "

"Do it," Jim says, and a flare of blue lights up in the centre of his vision. Jim's face comes clear into focus again, young, intense, full of life. He sets Spock ablaze. "Meld us. I will keep you safe. I'm not leaving you. _You will not leave me._"

Spock smiles. Jim's expression changes into that of fear, and his eyes widen impossibly. "Spock — " he begs, and his name slides out like a sigh.

With his final effort, Spock cradles Jim's cheek, and lets ninety-six years of unspoken affection rush through his broken shields.

* * *

Spock fades in and out of consciousness. There are voices, quiet and loud, Standard and Vulcan. A familiar smell wafts into his nose, a hand pressed against his cheek. Footsteps. Medical instruments prod at him, pain in various places. His mind is calm, cradled, warm. Someone is calling his name.

"Mr. Spock."

Spock opens his eyes to the sight of his younger counterpart standing by the side of his bed. He is dressed in Vulcan robes, and his face is paler than Spock last remembered.

"You offered a blood transfusion," Spock realises.

His younger self nods his affirmation. "Our father could not have offered the amount of blood required for the entire procedure. He sustained you until I could arrive on New Vulcan."

Spock smiles at himself. "Thank you," he murmurs, and watches his younger self stiffen.

"It was the logical choice," young Spock says. "I am invested in your wellbeing, as you are no doubt invested in mine."

"That is what I told myself, also," Spock says. He hopes he is being cryptic — but also not cryptic enough. By the slight widening in his younger self's eyes, he understands.

"I see," his counterpart answers. "I am gratified in this knowledge."

"I have long since given up contemplating the workings of the universes," Spock continues, feeling amusement tug at his lips.

"Indeed," his younger self agrees, and Dr. McCoy pushes through the door.

"What's this?' McCoy asks, "Working on universal paradoxes the moment you come back to life? How typical of you."

"I will take my leave," young Spock says. "Live long and prosper, ambassador."

Spock smiles at himself again, and watches his younger counterpart leave with stiff shoulders. There is time, he thinks. He will learn.

"You seem to enjoy torturing yourself," McCoy says, eyeing him. "This thing?" he says, indicating the upturn of his lips with his finger. "Creeps me out. No wonder your younger version is bothered by it."

"That time will come to pass," Spock says, shifting his gaze around the room. "Where is Jim?"

"Oh, remembered him, did you?" McCoy grunts. "He's okay. Considering. Gave him quite a fright, you did. Nearly ruined my favourite shirt."

"He cried?" Spock asks, lifting a brow.

"Puked," McCoy replies with a huff, as he continued examining him. "Wouldn't leave your bedside for days, then when I order him to eat, wolfs down more food than a Tellarite. It _had_ to come up when I was talking to him, though."

The thin thread of worry grows at the back of Spock's mind. "Is he presently at home recovering?"

"No," McCoy says clippedly. "He's talking to the admiralty about something. Goodness knows what," he says, before Spock can open his mouth. "You gotta ask him yourself. I already commed him; he knows you are awake."

"Thank you, doctor," Spock says, as McCoy turns towards the door.

With a long sigh, McCoy stalls his hand on the door. "Be good to him," he says, and before Spock can reply, the doctor is gone.

* * *

Like an ocean wave, Jim crashes into his room with palpable force.

"Spock!" he exclaims, eyes alight with happiness. "You're awake!"

"Indeed," Spock replies. "I apologise for causing you concern."

"Would you believe me if I said I cried like a fucking baby?" Jim asks, sitting down at the edge of his bed with aplomb. "Scoot over."

"This is no way to treat an elder," Spock complains, but he shifts over anyway. "And yes, I do recall the fact that you cried."

"Only for, like, five minutes," Jim declares, as he picks out an apple from the get-well basket from Earth's delegation and munches on it loudly. Spock has missed this kind of arrogance, perhaps more than he ought to. "I got angry afterwards. Think the Betazoid nearly exploded from the force of my emotions. Had to tell him to keep away; could only talk to Vulcan healers. At least you people don't mind being shouted at."

"I assure you we do," Spock says with exasperated amusement. "We simply elect not to show it."

"Yeah yeah, the Captain who saved Earth and Vulcan, all that shit," Jim says, wiping his hand on his jeans. "I told them you had a huge part to play, thank you. And if they ever want to see a T'hy'la bond on document again, they'd better save that great ass of yours." At Spock's no doubt scandalised expression, he adds as an afterthought, "Not in so many words."

"How reassuring," Spock says, unable to control his eyes growing slightly wide. Then, "You know about the nature of our bond?"

Jim rolls his eyes. "Give me some credit, Spock. Why else did you think I wanted it so much?" he says, and glides over the back of Spock's palm with a sticky finger. Spock watches his movement, then catalogues the feeling in his stomach — yes, that is relief, mixed with contentment.

"They told me you knew it was a family condition," Jim continues, rubbing his forefinger lightly. "So I'm not gonna get mad and shout at you this time for not transferring your katra to me. But I swear, Spock," he says, looking up, and Spock is staring into his sun again, "Next time you're gonna kick it? _Give it to me_. I will keep you safe."

Spock opens his mouth, closes, then opens it again. "Given the difference in our species, my remaining lifespan is likely to be similar to yours," he manages in the end.

"Good," Jim says, seemingly satisfied. "At least that gives us an equal chance."

Spock watches him helplessly — there is an enigma here that he does not yet understand. "You appear agitated," he observes. "Did the meeting with the Admiralty not go smoothly? Do they have objections for you to reenlist?"

"Nope," Jim says, drumming his finger on Spock's thigh. "I do, though."

Spock stares. "I do not understand."

"I won't be going back to Starfleet," Jim clarifies, and takes another loud crunch out of the apple.

Spock feels the air being punched out of him. Curiously, he catches Jim looking at the biomonitor by the bed — as if concerned that the news will affect his health adversely.

His heart rate increases; but it is not outside of acceptable limits. He feels, however, that the planet axis has shifted on its end.

"Jim," he begs, "Please do not forsake your — "

"First and best destiny? Yeah, you told me that," Jim interjects. "You do realise that I know exactly how everything will pan out if we go on that Five Year Mission? There are bound to be at least _some_ similarities. Do you really wanna find out how things will end up instead, when I try to avoid one disaster after another?"

Spock is at a loss for words. He thinks back to Nero's attempt at preventing the destruction of Romulus, and his own attempt at persuading his younger counterpart that a friendship yet unknown lay before him. Jim's attempt at outrunning what could never be, which led him to New Vulcan.

"I will admit to the futility in attempting to manipulate destiny," Spock concedes in the end.

"Right you are," Jim says, and throws the apple core into the bin with a flourish. "So, since we've had our first and best destiny, I thought we could have another go."

Spock's heart rate increases again. This time, neither of them is paying attention to the monitor. "Please clarify," he says.

"Your grandmother T'Pal tells me the Vulcan Science Academy is going to commission its own Five Year Mission," Jim begins, tilting his head. There is a fresh glint in his eyes, the stars reflected in the deep blue sea. Spock is too enraptured to even correct him about T'Pau. He nods his acknowledgement, shakily, once.

"I was thinking," Jim says slowly, "That we could be on that bridge again. You and me. The second star to the right till morning. Everything we should've done. In this universe and that." he turns his head, and Spock can feel the heat radiating off his cheek once again. The nervous excitement that bleeds through the skin, the deep undercurrent of affection. "I want that," Jim says softly. "The happy ending I promised. The happy ending _we_ promised. Tell me you don't want it."

Spock closes his eyes and thinks about the universes he has left behind. Jim's laugh, Jim's touch, the gentle glint in Jim's eye.

_If there's any true logic to the universe… we'll end up on that bridge again someday._

He can see it now, Jim giving him a grin and a wink. His destiny reaching across the stars, beyond the vast empty space where he waited for ninety six years. There is no logic in trying to outrun it.

"I do," he says.

**FIN**


End file.
